


and love is a call to arms

by blackkat



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brief Human Trafficking, Confederacy of Independent Systems (Star Wars), Dark Side Jedi (Star Wars), Discussions of slavery, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, grey morality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: When one of Hondo's lieutenants unloads three kidnapped clones on him, Xanatos expects nothing but a massive headache and one more problem to deal with. Hedoesn'texpect Kix, Jesse, and Tup to be the key to a power struggle that has been killing him by inches, and he most certainly doesn't expect all the shadows of his own past that Kix stirs up, even when they're supposed to be enemies.
Relationships: CT-5597 | Jesse/Quinlan Vos, CT-6116 | Kix/Xanatos (Star Wars)
Comments: 92
Kudos: 686





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Given all the very dark tags, let me just say off the top: there is no non-con in this fic, there is no actual slavery beyond discussions of what exists already in the gffa, and it is, overall, going to mostly be a story about morally grey people falling in love and trying to be better. 
> 
> That said, there is the _impression_ of a power imbalance, in that certain other people assume things about the main relationship that are not true and would be abuse if they were. If even that much is going to be a squick for you (because I know power imbalances are one of mine), I wanted to give the warning up front. The fic starts with people being bought by someone who is technically an enemy, and even if Xanatos doesn't do anything beyond that, and the power imbalance issues are solved by the time the tagged relationship starts, I understand if it's a squick.

“I cannot believe you made me pay off the authorities for you _again_ , Skragg,” Xanatos says, annoyed, and slaps the pad into Skragg’s chest as he passes. “This had better be worth that favor you wasted.”

“I didn’t _waste_ it,” Skragg protests, and the heavy clump of his boots follows Xanatos up the ship’s ramp. “Captain Ohnaka ordered me to get these to market, and this _is_ a market.”

“It’s a market because you know I would rather buy whatever useless flotsam you wish to bill me for _after_ my generous rescue of you, rather than allowing you to flood Telos’s underworld with overpriced bantha shite,” Xanatos says precisely, ignoring the pirate who hurries to open the door to the hold for him.

“Never overpriced,” Skragg says, grinning, and steers Xanatos left, towards another door. “Besides, the captain gives you a good deal on what you need, _First Citizen_.”

“If you insist on using my title as an insult, I may just forget to transfer the required bribe to the Separatist authorities occupying this sector,” Xanatos says poisonously, in no mood to deal with a gaggle of Weequay pirates at three in the morning when he has a meeting at seven. He draws his hood a little further forward, though all of Hondo's pirates know him; the mere _idea_ of the Separatists having eyes on them right now makes his skin crawl. Telos IV is a Separatists planet, nominally, but—Dooku suspects Xanatos, and the whole planet by extension. Keeping the hordes at bay takes everything Xanatos can manage, but—

He almost helped his father destroy Telos once. This doesn’t quite make up for past actions, but it’s something, at the very least.

A big hand catches his shoulder, hauls him around, and Xanatos has a knife out of his sleeve before Skragg can even get him up against the wall, blade locked under Skragg’s chin and ready to cut. Skragg freezes, staring at Xanatos, and Xanatos stares back, perfectly unmoved.

“Unhand me,” he says softly, and Skragg loosens his grip deliberately, steps back.

“If that bribe doesn’t go through, the captain’s going to spread your secrets all across the Confederacy,” Skragg says, and he’s still grinning, but then, Xanatos didn’t expect anything but unreasonableness from one of Hondo’s favorite underlings.

“Yes, but you’ll already have been shot out of the sky by a Separatist cruiser,” Xanatos snaps, and shoves his hand away, re-sheathing the knife. He takes a breath, because Hondo truly _is_ a valuable business partner to have right now, even if the threat of exposure makes Xanatos twitchy. “Your cargo?” he asks curtly.

Skragg grins, practically delighted. “Snatched ‘em off a moon in the Parmic sector,” he says. “Figured they’d fetch a good price somewhere, and then you commed, _First Citizen_ —”

“You commed _me_ ,” Xanatos says sharply. “Because you were about to be boarded by a Separatist officer who wouldn’t be bribed with _nerf hide_.”

Skragg laughs. “Good thing you picked up,” he says, and opens the next door.

Xanatos catches a flicker of sentient thoughts and very deliberately doesn’t curse, but—it’s a near thing. Slavery isn't precisely as illegal under the Confederacy as it is in the Republic, but Xanatos owning slaves will tarnish what reputation he’s managed to cling to, and he can't afford to—

Skragg drags open the final heavy metal door and turns the lights on, then rounds on Xanatos in pale imitation of Hondo at his most excitable and spreads his hands. “Here you go!” he says proudly. “Your merchandise!”

“Skragg—” Xanatos starts, and then a flash of movement entirely distracts him. He lunges, half an instant before a pair of cuffed hands hit Skragg right in the back of his ridiculous hat. He slams shoulder-first into the assailant, and it feels like hitting a brick wall, but Xanatos has sparred with Feemor more than enough times to know how to manage such a thing. Dropping, he fouls the bastard’s legs, hears a cry, and drives his elbow into a stomach. There's a wheeze, and Xanatos twists up, grabs an arm, and slams the captive down onto the decking face-first.

“Jesse!” a voice shouts, and from where he’s been chained up along the wall, a man struggles to rise but can't manage it. Broken leg, Xanatos thinks, though most of his attention is on the man beneath him, frozen with Xanatos’s vibroblade against his jugular.

On the _clone_ beneath him, because of _course_.

“If you can't even secure your cargo, I'm not certain I should be engaged in business with you,” he informs Skragg, who has the decency to look abashed. There's a rush behind him, and a moment later two Weequay are hauling the clone up, dragging him back towards the others as he struggles. Two others, including the one who yelled for his friend, and Xanatos casts a quick glance over them as he rounds on Skragg.

“Now, sir,” Skragg starts, raising his hands.

“ _Clones_?” Xanatos demands. “You want to sell me _clones_? Skragg, I am second only to the _governor_ here. And if Count Dooku catches wind of this—”

“It’ll make him happy, won't it?” Skragg asks, and when Xanatos narrows his eyes at the pirate, he smirks. “Means you're settling into things, right?”

Getting into his role as the evil master of Telos and Offworld. The terrible thing is that it will likely _work_. Dooku knows Xanatos’s taste for handsome men, and he’ll be overjoyed to think that Xanatos would do something so…Dark. Hearing about Xanatos taking three…body servants, or the like, might help solidify Xanatos’s position and keep Dooku from looking any more closely at Xanatos’s operations here.

Xanatos’s stomach turns, but he closes his eyes for a long moment, then takes a breath.

“Fine,” he says curtly. “You’ve made your point. Get two of them offloaded, and my staff will see to their transportation.” When Skragg opens his mouth, looking pleased, Xanatos raises a warning finger. “I will _take_ all three, seeing as I already paid for them. Two go with my staff. The other comes with me as insurance that the others will not escape, because you kidnapped _highly trained soldiers_ , Skragg.”

“They fetch a good price,” Skragg says, grinning. “And there's an endless supply, so no one notices. Good doing business with you, sir.”

Xanatos grits his teeth, then sets his jaw and turns. “That one,” he says, waving a hand at the clone with the broken leg. “Find him a splint and get him upright, I’ll be taking him with me personally.”

“No!” the escapee snarls, lunging forward and almost managing to bring the two Weequay down with him. “No, you _hut'uun_ —”

Jesse, Xanatos thinks, eyeing him. He takes three precise steps across the room, and Jesse sees him coming, struggles harder, but Skragg’s men are strong, for all their flaws. They pin him between them, and Xanatos gives him a smirk, leaning down and tipping his face up with a finger. Jesse’s face contorts into a expression of pure rage, but before he can spit any more insults—or just spit in his face, and Xanatos has had that happen _far_ more than he cares to remember—Xanatos raises a brow.

“Your friend, I assume?” he asks, perfectly polite. “I’ll take _very_ good care of him, Jesse, don’t worry. Assuming, of course, that you can manage to behave yourself. My staff are very skilled. Should anything go wrong, they will alert me immediately, and…well. Should something happen, it would be a _tragedy_.”

Jesse swallows, jerks his head in a nod. Xanatos can _feel_ the roil of anger and bitter fear around him, and it sets his teeth on edge. He halfway hopes that Jesse and the other clone _do_ manage to escape; that will make this whole thing easier. At the same time, three clones loose on Telos IV won't help keep the public calm, and it might just put several of the Separatist operations in danger. If word gets back to the Republic before Xanatos is ready—

“Very good,” Xanatos says smoothly, and straightens, stepping back. The third clone, the quiet one, is watching him carefully, and Xanatos glances at him, then at the injured one. The undersuit he’s wearing is stiff with dried blood, and Xanatos frowns, but he can't see a sign of bone having pierced skin, and that uniform is tight enough for it to show.

“Splint’s coming,” Skragg says, leaning against the wall and watching Xanatos. Xanatos ignores him pointedly, sending a quick message to his house staff, and then another to his guards to tighten security. A third goes to the squad of guards waiting outside the port, and while they won't be _pleased_ to play prison transport while Xanatos wanders off on his own, they know very well that he can take care of himself. The protection is mostly for show, at the end of things, and so that people will underestimate Xanatos if they do get him one on one. He can most definitely manage a short trip back to his estate by himself.

“If you're going to keep getting caught by the authorities, perhaps consider running spice instead of slaves,” he tells Skragg crossly. “I refuse to have any more to do with this sort of thing, so if you want my continued cooperation, go back to stealing nysillin from poor farmers and leave slave-running to the Hutts.”

Skragg pulls a face, like he can't believe Xanatos has the temerity to order him around, which—they’ve _met_ , and Xanatos answered his comm at one in the morning to talk down a Confederacy captain who thought he was about to arrest a pirate for the first time in his whole career. If anyone _deserves_ to order him around, it’s Xanatos, and beyond that, there's no conceivable universe in which Xanatos _wouldn’t_.

“I _will_ take this up with Hondo himself,” Xanatos warns. “He owes me _multiple_ favors after I stepped in with that upstart Shadow Collective. Do not test me on this, Skragg.”

“Yes, sir,” Skragg says, a little sullen, but Xanatos will take it. He makes a pleased sound, raising his head as Skragg’s medic troops by with a rough brace, and watches warily as it’s strapped to the clone’s leg. The clone makes an aborted move to help, clearly familiar with the device, before he seems to remember himself and stops short. Xanatos makes a note of potential medical training, then sends a final message and steps forward, waving an expectant hand at Skragg.

Skragg drops three sets of keys into Xanatos’s hands, swipes the credit chip that’s there, and tucks it into the band of his fancy hat. “We’ll get the other two delivered,” he promises, though Xanatos is rather doubtful of the worth of a promise from one of Hondo's men. Hondo certainly has no trouble going back on his word when it suits him. “Want one of my men to help you with that one? For a price, of course.” His grin is full of teeth.

Xanatos snorts, sliding the keys out of sight and into a hidden pocket in the lining of his coat. Jesse, at least, is watching closely, and Xanatos is will to bet he has some sort of extra training, though he’s a little fuzzy on clone trooper ranks and specializations. The potential medic and the quiet one seem rather more overwhelmed, and close to the edge of despair, and—well. Xanatos isn't kind, and can't afford to be, particularly not now, but he can at least secret them away somewhere they aren’t actively being trafficked.

“Up,” he orders, as Skragg’s medic shifts out of the way. The injured clone looks up at him, mouth tight, something furious and grieving in his eyes, and Xanatos raises a brow rather than allow himself any other reaction. “If you prefer, I can allow you to remain with your…friend, and take the quiet one instead—”

“No!” the medic says quickly, even as Jesse makes a sound of dismayed protest. “No, I’ll go with you.”

“Kix—” Jesse starts, harsh.

“No,” Kix says evenly, and levers himself up, shackled hands making him clumsy. “Stay with Tup, I’ll be fine.”

There's a weight to the words, an edge that Xanatos is willing to wager is _I’ll just slow down your escape_ , and he snorts, watching one of the pirates unhook the shackles from the wall. “My security should be outside,” he tells Skragg, and deliberately closes a hand around Kix's elbow, feeling the way he stiffens. “They're fully aware you have already been paid, Captain, so save any attempts at swindling for someone else.”

Skragg chuckles, tipping his hat to Xanatos, and says, “Until next time, First Citizen.”

“Only if it’s after seven at the _earliest_ ,” Xanatos shoots back, and ignores Jesse’s renewed struggles as he guides Kix out of the hold. Skragg doesn’t follow, but Xanatos still keeps a wary eye on the pirates he can see as he leads Kix out of the ship and down the ramp. His guards are at the edge of the port, and Xanatos inclines his head to the Twi’lek woman in charge for the night. She nods back, though she doesn’t look entirely happy about it.

“Sir,” she says as Xanatos approaches. Her eyes flicker to Kix, narrowing, and she looks back at Xanatos like she’s questioning his sanity.

“Riz,” Xanatos returns, and doesn’t let his agreement show on his face. “There are two more. A secure room has been set aside for them at the estate, and I would prefer they make it there uninjured. If possible.”

Riz’s expression remains unenthusiastic, but she nods once, brusque. “Yes, sir.”

Xanatos appreciates the lack of questions, the unhesitating agreement. Of course, that’s entirely what he pays her for. Inclining his head, he pushes Kix forward, towards the waiting hovercar, and says, “Kix, was it?”

Each slow, limping step is clearly painful, but Kix's face doesn’t show it, and he keeps his eyes fixed ahead like he’s being led to the gallows. It is, Xanatos allows, an understandable reaction. “Private CT-6116.”

“Kix,” Xanatos decides, because he’s not using a _number_. He has more class than that. Opening the hovercar’s door, he offers Kix a hand up, then says, “Take the rear-facing seat.”

Kix hesitates, glancing back towards Skragg’s ship. The sight of Jesse and Tup being led out makes him tense, and he turns back towards the hovercar and swallows. Grimly, he reaches out, grips Xanatos’s hand with his cuffed ones, and painfully hauls himself up. There's a ragged sound of pain as he all but collapses into the seat, face gone ashen, and Xanatos silently pulls himself in after him and inputs their destination. Pauses, then sighs faintly, and reaches for the inner pocket of his coat, pulling out the flask of very strong liquor he generally reserves for starting fires, and offers it.

“Have a drink,” he says blandly. “It likely won't help with the pain, but you’ll be too focused on coughing up a lung afterwards to care.”

Kix blinks, looking from the flask to Xanatos, and hesitates for a long moment. Gingerly, he reaches out to take it, and Xanatos unscrews the cap for him and sits back, turning his attention out the window as the hovercar starts to move. There's the sound of a swallow, then a hiss, but surprisingly no wheezing reaction to the strength of the alcohol, and Xanatos can't help but raise a brow, glancing back in surprise.

“You're made of sterner stuff than I thought,” he says, amused.

Kix winces as he takes another swallow, but he hands it back without any more of a reaction. Pauses, watching Xanatos warily for a moment, and then says, “Some clones make their own. Quietly. It’s stronger.”

“Moonshine-crafting? In the lauded ranks of the GAR?” Xanatos raises both brows, exaggerating the reaction, but—he’s a little surprised. He’d not thought the clones were independent enough for that sort of rule-breaking. “I'm impressed. that’s very industrious of you.”

Kix curls his bound hands together in his lap, still stiff and tense and a little pale. He’s staring at Xanatos like Xanatos is about to leap across the gap between the seats and tear out his throat with his bare hands, and Xanatos is mildly offended. He’s wearing a white shirt, and blood stains terribly; he _wouldn’t_.

“Who are you?” Kix asks quietly, but there's a thread of steel in it. “What do you want with us?”

Xanatos weighs his answers, considers lying, considers refusing to respond. But—if the clones are going to be staying at his estate until he can find some way to ship them to some sort of neutral space, they’ll undoubtedly witness at least some of the activity there, and Xanatos’s identity is easy enough to parse. Laying it out beforehand might not earn Xanatos goodwill, understandably, but it will at least be an attempt at transparency that will hopefully build into believability later.

“My name is Xanatos,” he says. “I am the First Citizen of Telos and the owner of Offworld Mining.” The company name makes Kix stiffen, and Xanatos smiles thinly. “I'm not associated with any of the trade guilds or corporations that run the Confederacy, if that’s your concern. Offworld is self-sufficient and not allied with any outsiders, and I have full ownership of my company.”

It’s even mostly true. Dooku's lackeys and the more persistent members of the Mining Guild have been pressing at the edges, trying to buy up pieces, cut down on Xanatos’s iron control of his company, but Xanatos has managed to fend off all attempt so far. Telos has too many natural resources hidden away beneath sacred sites, and if Xanatos allows competition, they’ll be plundered mercilessly. His father made the attempt, once, pushed Xanatos towards that goal, but—

Well. Xanatos has learned over many, many painful years that anything his father told him was precisely the _opposite_ of what he should do.

“And you use your money to buy slaves,” Kix says, soft, damning.

Xanatos snorts, crossing his legs and sinking back in his seat. “Slavery is illegal on Telos,” he says. “Even beyond the Republic’s previous restrictions on the trade. You and your fellow clones are my prisoners, not my slaves. I have no interest in such things.”

“But you _bought us_ ,” Kix says, and those edges are starting to show, razor-sharp beneath the level tone of his voice. “You paid that pirate—”

“I bought Skragg’s merchandise to provide him with a legitimate bill of sale so he wouldn’t be arrested when he was stopped by the Confederacy authorities watching the borders of our system,” Xanatos corrects. “I would have paid even if he were smuggling risqué negligees for Hutts, Private. You are collateral.”

The flicker of hope that rises is almost gutting, given its ferocity and speed. “You—”

“Will not be releasing you,” Xanatos cuts him off ruthlessly, perfectly flat. “As I said. You are my prisoners. I am a loyal member of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and any soldiers of the GAR that I can remove from service is a boon to my lord Count Dooku's cause.”

Kix's eyes narrow, shoulders going even stiffer, and he says, “Killing us won't—”

Rolling his eyes, Xanatos waves a hand. “I'm not a _barbarian_ ,” he says coolly. “I would hardly execute you summarily. You will be treated as guests at my estate, and once Count Dooku wins this war, I will make arrangements for your release.” He pauses, like it’s just occurring to him, and smiles. “Unless, of course, you would like to swear allegiance to me, and through me to the cause of the Confederacy. Loyal soldiers would be welcome, and you would certainly attain a rank higher than _private_.”

Kix stares at him, stone-faced, and doesn’t say a word.

“Alas,” Xanatos says, bland, and inspects his nails. The dark green paint is starting to chip, and he’s mildly annoyed; he’d thought it would last longer than this. “I see the Republic’s brainwashing has yet to fade. In time, perhaps.”

“At least the Republic doesn’t have _pirates_ kidnap us into slavery and beat us,” Kix says, and if looks could kill, Xanatos would be a smear on the fine upholstery. And—he considers leaving it at that, letting Kix have the moral high ground and the last word, but.

Xanatos is a bastard, and in more ways than one. Letting an opening like that pass untaken is beyond his abilities.

“No,” he drawls, and gives Kix a smirk. “It just buys you, doesn’t pay you as you waste your lives for it, considers you to be beneath the level of sentience, and grants you no rights and no permissions to make your own decisions about your lives. Truly, the superior side in this war.”

“My brothers and I fight so that _civilians_ don’t have to,” Kix snaps. “And we do it so that the Seps stop enslaving whole worlds and wiping out populations whenever they're feeling trigger-happy!”

Xanatos’s knuckles are white in the folds of his coat, carefully kept out of sight. Dooku had threatened that, hadn’t he. Telos IV is a rich world, a popular one, with all the natural resources a conqueror could want, and they're firmly in Separatist space. Dooku had come sweeping in and brought Grievous and his armies with him, and the governor had been ready to crumble, to let Telos be ravaged and destroyed in the name of the Confederacy, but—

Xanatos’s breath slides harshly from his lungs, and he smiles, thin. Snake-like, but he’s a snake wrapped around the roots of this tree, holding it steady, and he refuses to regret that.

“And here you are,” he says, perfectly careless. Turns away, feeling Kix's stare but not reacting to it, and watches the lights of the city fade away around them. The port is already on the edge of it, wide and sprawling, and the lanes of air traffic thin as they get further away, until their hovercar is the only one visible. It’s dak enough that Xanatos can't see the rolling green hills around them, but he knows them by heart, and he closes his eyes, a fraction of his senses trained on Kix and ready to react, but the rest focused outward.

He’s not a Jedi. He failed every test that they put in front of him, too arrogant, too _stupid_ , drunk on his own skill and unable to see reality. But the Force-sense is still there, regardless of his attachment to the Order, and Xanatos supposes that he could be counted a Dark Jedi still, even if he realized his father’s manipulations before he could fully fall. It’s easy enough to sense the ebb and flow of the planet, if he puts his mind to it, if he relaxes and breathes and opens to it.

Telos is quiet. For all the activity on its surface, for all the billions that call it home, it isn't a warzone. It isn't broken and burning and stripped of its valuables, because Xanatos has made the choices he has. He’s kowtowed and bargained and bullied and schemed, and it’s pure possessive _fury_ , but he’s kept his world from falling to the Separatists, even in the name of serving them. Not neutral, because Xanatos doesn’t have that much sway, but—safe. For now.

Dooku will catch wind of this shortly. Someone in Xanatos’s staff, or someone in his circle, is reporting his every move to Dooku, feeding him information on Xanatos’s plans. It doesn’t matter, because Xanatos has always played such things close, kept his own council and followed his own instincts. He can plan for a spy, and it’s easy to know that the spy will pass this on, Xanatos’s purchase of three clones. And—maybe Xanatos can play it off as curiosity, as something he’s _curious_ about, but it means Dooku will think he has some sort of edge over Xanatos, some way to manipulate him.

Xanatos could say they're for experiments. Dooku already knows he’s been investigating Sith and Jedi artefacts alike, though blessedly he hasn’t discovered the vault yet. But—that likely means he’ll have to _do_ some experimenting, and Xanatos is hardly above sacrificing one life for all the lives on Telos, but he wants to be sure it’s necessary first. Maybe he can play at benign experiments, little things, but that won't last forever.

Of course, he could always play into Dooku's expectation of why Xanatos would purchase three handsome men for his own use, but Xanatos is ruthless, not _vile_. If Dooku wants to assume that, fine, but he refuses to play into it.

A soft chime sounds, and Xanatos opens his eyes, letting the sense of the world as a whole subside with several breathes, until it’s once more held at a safe distance. He sits up, reaching for the door, and drops out even before the hovercar has fully come to a stop, landing on the wide stone walk that curls around the edge of the building. There's no one waiting, but the closest door stands open, and Xanatos steps up to offer Kix a hand.

“Come,” he says impatiently, and Kix's mouth tightens, but he carefully eases up from his seat and grabs the edge of the doorway. Xanatos grips his arm, bracing him as he steps down, and he hops a few feet with a hiss, then steadies.

“Where are you sending Jesse and Tup?” he asks, quiet, like that will hide the edge of anger in it.

“They’ll be along shortly, I'm sure,” Xanatos says dismissively, and pulls him towards the open door. The wash of light is almost painful, and Xanatos pulls his hood forward a little more, grimacing at the thought of how little sleep he’s going to get before his meeting with several of Offworld’s overseers. He was up late last night as well, researching several planet-wide shields rumored to have been used by the Sith in previous empires, but—mentions are few and far between, and Xanatos keeps losing sleep for nothing.

This might turn out to be the same, or worse. Xanatos’s credits are on _worse_ , personally.

Kix looks like he’s about to protest, but after a moment he takes a breath and hobbles forward, leaning on Xanatos even as he tries to keep space between them. “Are you—”

“Oh look, our destination,” Xanatos says, in no mood for more questions, and pushes him through a set of doors that hiss open in front of them. Kix yelps, almost falls, but Xanatos keeps him on his feet long enough to shove him at a biobed. “D3?”

With a faint whir, the med-droid rises on the other side of the bed, lights flickering across her display. She whistles a query at Xanatos who sighs, irritated, but tells Kix, “She wants you on the bed. Up.”

Kix grimaces, but leans back, carefully pulls himself up, and Xanatos catches his splinted leg before it can bump on anything, settles it as Kix steadies himself, and then steps back, folding his arms. “D3, the security bracelets—”

D3 tells him precisely where he can put his security bracelets, and Xanatos only just refrains from rolling his eyes. “Charming, but I refuse to let them roam Telos unchecked, and they won't change the readouts more than you can account for. The bracelets?”

D3 whistles, an aggrieved sound, but tells him his staff left the bracelets on the table by the door. Satisfied, Xanatos goes to collect one, and checks it for flaws in the Force as he brings it back. It’s a sleek little thing, with no breakable parts, and Xanatos makes a pleased noise, opens it, and just as D3 administers a dose of anesthetic, he snaps it shut around Kix's wrist.

“Ow!” Kix says, and jerks away from Xanatos, almost falling off the bed. D3 beeps loudly at him, her version of a screech, and he quickly catches himself, scrambling back upright and jerking his wrist up.

“A monitor,” Xanatos tells him, already turning away. “You’re permitted to go most places within the perimeter of my estate, but that bracelet will activate if you try to cross the boundary. I would advise that you don’t.”

“What?” Kix asks, sounding confused. “But—you're just—”

“I,” Xanatos says over his shoulder, “have a meeting in less than three hours, and if I don’t sleep, I _will_ turn Skragg and all of his crew into the ugliest furniture you’ve ever seen. To spare my decorator that, I am leaving you to your own devices and going to _bed_.”

The door doesn’t slam behind him as he leaves medical, but only because D3 would throw things at him if he set it to do so, and Xanatos is a bastard of kingly proportions, but he isn't _stupid._


	2. Chapter 2

Kix has no idea what’s going on.

Entirely caught off guard, he stares dumbly at the closed door as the droid activates the bone-mender. His hands are still cuffed in front of him, and there’s a brand-new containment bracelet wrapped around his wrist, but—

But he’s not chained to a wall, and there _is_ a bone-mender fixing the leg that’s been broken for days now, and Kix's throat is still tingling from the drink Xanatos gave him. He’s alone in a strange place, without Jesse or Tup, sold off by a bunch of pirates, but.

This isn't exactly the eternity of manual labor or worse that Kix was expecting when they woke up as prisoners in a Weequay pirate’s hold.

There's a sharp pinch, right over his ribs, and Kix yelps, turning with the automatic instinct to swat that two years as Jesse’s friend has embedded in him. The crackle of an electric prod pulls him up short, though, and he freezes, blinking at the medical droid. It—she, Xanatos called her a she—she beeps stridently at him, and Kix blinks. She’s not speaking the type of binary Kix is used to in medical droids, the shorthand they taught on Kamino. It’s…rougher, longhand, and she doesn’t look like a medical droid, either. A modified parrot droid, maybe, but Kix has no idea why anyone _would_ modify a seeker droid like that.

“I'm—I don’t understand binary,” Kix tells her. “Not that kind.”

The droid stares at him, her photoreceptor huge and glowing red and entirely judgmental. Kix winces a little, raising his bound hands, and says, “Sorry, I only know the medical version, and you’re not…”

 _That_ gets him a screech of grinding gears and pure offense, and the droid swoops down as the bone-mender clicks off, retracts it with a snap, and releases a tirade of clicking, whistling beeps at Kix, two of her arms spinning. Kix yelps as one almost hits him, ducks as it skims his skull, and squawks, “I'm _sorry_ , they didn’t have classes on regular binary for medics—”

“D3,” a woman’s voice says, entirely amused, and with a huffy warble, the droid blasts off across the room to a charging station, practically slamming into it and shutting down with a sharp beep.

Kix has never witnessed the droid version of slamming a door before, but he’s pretty sure that’s what he just saw.

From the doorway, there's a snort, and a Zabrak woman pushes away from the wall, looking Kix over closely. She’s Iridonian, with twin ridges of sharp horns, her purple hair pulled up in a topknot, and the last time Kix saw someone so openly and heavily armed, he walked in on Commander Fox gearing up.

“A word of warning,” she says dryly. “D3 hates it when anyone implies she’s not a real medical droid. You’ll keep your skull intact longer if you show her some respect.”

“I just didn’t understand,” Kix says, a little frustrated but also wary. “Aren’t r—regular medical droids easy to get?”

“Probably,” she says, apparently unbothered by the use of a retrofitted spy droid in the medical bay of a wealthy aristocrat. “Xanatos is fussy like that, though. Hands.”

Kix blinks, but after an instant of hesitation he raises his hands, and the Zabrak catches his cuffs, tilting them and then giving another quiet snort.

“I see Skragg is as classy as ever,” she says, but slides the key that the pirate captain gave Xanatos into the hole and unlocks them. The cuffs drop away, and she doesn’t bother to catch them as they hit the floor, just kicks them away from her and gives Kix a smirk. “There you go. Don’t try anything and we won't have to put them back on.”

This is—confusing. Kix has no idea what to do with _any_ of this, and he drops his hands into his lap, rubbing at his wrists. “You're…Xanatos’s wife?”

The Zabrak laughs in his face. “ _Me_? Not on your _life_ , even if he unbent enough for that. I'm Sugi, and I'm in charge of Xanatos’s security.”

Kix wonders if he should do what they're taught, give name and number and nothing else. But—nothing about this is like what the trainers tried to prepare them for. The cuffs on the floor are proof of that. “I'm—Kix,” he manages after a moment, because Xanatos already knows. “Where are the others?”

Sugi cocks her head. “The two others? Or your battalion?” she asks, faintly amused. “Because I'm not telling you that last one, but your friends are outside. Riz just delivered them. Let me show you.”

It takes effort not to shove past her and run, but Kix's leg is still sore, and if the glimpses he got on the way in are accurate, there’s a lot of _outside_ that she could mean. The estate is as big as a small town, and the house itself has more doors than Kix thinks anyone would need. He has no idea which one of them will get him closest to Jesse and Tup.

“Thank you,” Kix says instead, and slides off the bed, hiding his wince.

“Thank Xanatos, he’s the one who gave the order,” Sugi says dryly, and doesn’t make any move to get close to Kix as he hobbles the first few steps. The vulnerability makes Kix's skin itch, even more than it did when Xanatos was right next to him, holding him up. At least that was some pretext that he wasn’t a prisoner; Sugi just looks blandly unimpressed and a little impatient, and Kix wants to bristle, wants to face her, but he wants to see Jesse and Kix more.

“Good, you can move,” Sugi says after a moment, and then catches up, passing him and collecting the other two monitor bracelets from the table before she waves the door open and saunters out. She turns in the opposite direction of the entrance Xanatos originally brought Kix in through, heading down a long, brightly-lit hallway scattered with nondescript doors. Mostly locked, Kix thinks, casting an eye over them, and the fact that his hands are free shouldn’t be alarming, but—he can't help the edge of dread it gives him.

Xanatos isn't scared of what they’ll do, even if he knows precisely what they are. That means he’s confident he can survive it, stop it, and Kix doesn’t like that at all.

“I'm sure Xanatos told you that bracelet will keep you from leaving the grounds,” Sugi says over her shoulder, turning down another hall. This one’s far less sterile, the walls studded with alcoves holding fountains, and Kix eyes them with mild disbelief as they pass. He can’t imagine what purpose they're supposed to serve. “It will keep you out of personal rooms, too, unless you’ve been invited in, and out of the armory and the utility areas. I can restrict your access to anywhere on a whim, so don’t even bother trying. Meals are in your rooms at seven and noon, and Xanatos wants you to show yourselves in his main study or in the dining hall for dinner each night. You’ll get a message about the time.

Kix glances down at the bracelet, which is too tight to get off even if he dislocates a few fingers. But—there's going to be a way around it. Maybe in the medical bay. “Can I use medical? I'm a medic.”

“D3 will object,” Sugi says, unconcerned. “And she’s still got the poison darts she was equipped with as a parrot droid, so I wouldn’t pin all of your hopes of escape on what you can scrounge from medical. Also.” She casts a look back over her shoulder, arching one brow at Kix. “If you bother my employer, I’ll make you regret it.”

Kix feels almost sick with the tension, but he jerks his head in a nod, and Sugi smiles, pleased, and then turns again, heading out through a set of glass doors. They're almost covered by a cascade of leafy vines, and Kix has to duck his head a little to keep from running into one of the lower loops of the shoots. Outside is a wide, looping drive that cuts through a long meadow full of grass and wildflowers, then vanishes through the tall wall in the distance.

The scarred Twi’lek woman from the port is waiting, leaning against a hovercar that’s not nearly as nice as the one Xanatos loaded Kix into. As Sugi approaches, she straightens, inclining her head, and Sugi waves a hand in response.

“Riz,” she says. “Any problems?”

Riz shakes her head. “Not yet, ma’am.” She raps her knuckles against the door, then says, “One at a time. Come out _slowly_.”

Kix can't help the way he tenses, resisting the urge to take a half-step forward. Sugi catches it instantly; she shoots him a sideways look, halfway to a warning, and as Riz slides the door open, she moves, snake-quick. Tup yelps as she grabs his arm, and Kix jerks forward, only to find a huge Kyuzo man right in front of him. He freezes, and a moment later the man nods silently and steps back, revealing Tup just as another pair of shackles goes clattering to the ground.

“Oh,” Tup says, and swallows, looking from Sugi to Kix. Relieved, Kix reaches out, and Tup immediately ducks around Sugi and puts himself right behind Kix's shoulder.

“Finally woke up, Embo?” Sugi asks the Kyuzo, who tips his wide-brimmed hat but doesn’t otherwise reply. It makes Sugi grin even so, and she tips her head in return, then says, “All right, you're last, big guy. No sudden movements.”

Jesse makes an angry sound, but slowly, deliberately hooks his bound hands around the edge of the door and pulls himself out. Kix's heart is in his throat, and it takes effort to swallow, to stay where he is with Tup beside him. The pirates chained them up on opposite sides of the hold, deliberately kept them apart, and Kix hasn’t been close enough to Jesse to touch since well before their capture. And, given how frequently Jesse tried to get free, or talked back, or distracted the pirates from Tup and Kix—

He grip Tup's arm to keep himself from moving, meets Jesse’s eyes over Sugi's head as she snaps the monitor on and unlocks the cuffs. Jesse’s relief is easy to see, but he doesn’t run to Kix immediately, just straightens, rubbing his wrists, and looks from Embo to Sugi to Riz.

“You're bounty hunters,” he says, accusing.

“Personal security,” Sugi counters, sweet. “The honorable First Citizen got us out of a bind with some pirates, so when he offered us a job, we took it.” She flicks a hand at Embo. “Embo and I are in charge. Riz is a native and in charge of the estate. You follow our orders, keep within the boundary, and keep your heads down, and we won't have problems. Guestrooms are the third door down, pick any you like.”

Jesse wavers like he’s been caught off guard, but Sugi ignores him, turning away. Embo tips his hat politely, then follows her, and Riz gives them all one narrow, suspicious look before she waves the other four guards around her and marches back towards the mansion. There's only a brief pause before the hovercar lifts away as well, and inside of a minute they're standing alone in the middle of an unfamiliar world, locked in a huge estate without any chains, without any apparent guards, and without no concern from the owner about any of the things they might try.

It’s not the first time Kix has been taken prisoner over the course of the war, but it’s definitely the most unsettling time.

“We should find a room,” he says, squeezing Tup's arm, and offers him a smile. “Do either of you need to go to medical? I think I can convince the med-droid to help if you're hurt.”

“Nothing more than what you saw the pirates do,” Jesse says after a moment, narrowed eyes sweeping the front of the mansion before he crosses the stone in three long steps. Kix sees it coming and is already reaching back when Jesse grabs him, and the way Jesse wraps him in a tight hug makes his lungs ache. It’s not enough to undo the stress and fear of the whole trip, but—Kix hugs him back, bruising-tight, and it’s enough for now.

“The pirates were bad enough,” he says, muffled, and Jesse snorts, gropes out with one hand, and grabs Tup by the arm. He hauls him close, and Kix shifts an arm, pulls him in and hugs him too, pressing his face to Tup's knotted hair. “Tup?”

“I'm fine,” Tup says, squeezing them both. “The guards kept their hands to themselves.”

It’s more than Kix can say for Skragg’s pirates, even if nothing that he’d been afraid of actually happened. He lets out a relieved breath, then pulls back, even if he doesn’t go far.

“Come on,” he says. “I think I can find us a room.”

“Where even _are_ we?” Jesse asks, but he doesn’t resist when Kix pulls them on.

“Telos,” Kix says quietly. “I think he meant Telos IV, though. The man who bought us—his name is Xanatos, and he said we’re prisoners, not slaves.” He hesitates, and then adds, “He said he was a loyal member of the CIS.”

Jesse looks grim. “Great. Right in the middle of Sep space, under the control of a sympathizer. If we don’t get ourselves out…”

There's no rescue coming for them, even assuming that anyone knows they were captured at all. The mountain was coming down on top of them from all of the shelling, and writing them off as dead would be the logical thing to do. Kix grimaces, but nods.

“I don’t—we need to get the bracelets off,” he says, low, and Jesse nods in agreement.

“Telos has a lot of ports, and a lot of ships,” Tup says quietly. “If we can just get past the walls, it shouldn’t be too hard to steal one.”

It’s not quite a plan, but for now, Kix will take it, regardless of the twisting unease in his gut that says things aren’t going to be anywhere _near_ that easy.

“If you have any regard for me at all, you will hand that caf over at _once_ ,” Xanatos says, blearily, already reaching for it.

Sugi snorts, taking two precise steps back out of range. “It’s _juice_ ,” she says, and takes a deliberate sip. “Paws off.”

Displeased, Xanatos squints at her for a moment, then sighs dramatically and turns, stalking towards the meeting room. There's caf provided, because he’s not a barbarian, but his brain feels like it’s mired in muck, slow and dragging. He needs _something_ to shake the edges of exhaustion.

“If I might remind you,” he says over his shoulder, “you're a _carnivore_. You don’t need fruit.”

“I like the taste,” Sugi says, clearly amused as she follows him a few paces behind. “And the girl in the kitchens, Sulen—she squeezes it fresh for me every morning.”

“Still working your way towards seducing my entire house staff, I see,” Xanatos mutters, pushing some of his hair out of his eyes. He doesn’t squint at the light as he emerges into the statuary hall, but mostly because Sugi teases him about needing glasses when he does that. “The clones?”

Sugi's mouth pulls with displeasure. “Holed up in the Forest Room,” she says. “Rumi warned the staff, but they mostly seem occupied plotting their grand escape.”

Xanatos makes a sound of displeasure, but waves a hand and accepts it. “Let them. They won’t make it out of the estate, and I’ll alert you if any of their attempts seems particularly threatening.”

“Thank you,” Sugi says, though she doesn’t sound overly pleased about it. “And you might want to sleep with one eye open, sir. Riz didn’t like you leaving with that one clone by yourself.”

“If one clone can manage to kill me, I’ll deserve it,” Xanatos says, mostly distracted as he checks the room numbers. Something prickles down his spine, because Bel is with the overseers meeting him, regarding the polar operation particularly, and she usually waits in the hall to greet Xanatos privately. There's no sign of her, though, and Xanatos frowns, steps slowing. There's _something_ —

“Sir?” Sugi asks sharply, and she’s suddenly at his elbow, blaster in hand. Xanatos doesn’t look at her, though; his attention is on the door ahead of them, open just a crack.

“It seems,” he says evenly, “that we have an uninvited guest with us today.”

Sugi tenses, but Xanatos just keeps moving, shoving the stalled door open all the way and stepping into the room. There's a body on the floor, a bloodless wound showing through their back like a burn, and Bel and three of the other overseers are frozen stiff in their chairs, watching the man at the far end of the table like an angry nexu was just dropped into their midst. Not that Xanatos can blame them for that; a nexu would likely be less dangerous.

“Quinlan Vos,” he says evenly. “You're aware that this is a private meeting, yes?”

Dooku's newest apprentice, pure fallen Jedi right down to the glow of his yellow eyes, gives Xanatos a lazy smile that’s full of teeth. “Sure. Just the two of us, I figured. That’s private.”

His arrival is far earlier than Xanatos had expected, so it’s likely unconnected to the clones. Xanatos flicks a glance from Quinlan to the overseers, then down to the body on the floor. Teekon, he thinks. He never liked the man, even if he respected him, but—seeing him dead was never one of Xanatos’s desires.

“Bel,” he says levelly. “Perhaps we can reschedule.”

“Of course, sir,” Bel says, rising to her feet, and the other three follow her up. “Shall I take Teekon?”

“Please.” Xanatos steps to the side to let them pass, gaze never leaving Quinlan. “Sugi will show you out. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

The dark look Sugi slants him says exactly what she thinks about this arrangement, but she doesn’t protest, just leans down to help Bel get the body up and over her shoulder. It’s easy to forget just how strong Devaronians are, Xanatos thinks with a thread of cold amusement, until he watches a willowy woman in heels heave up a fully-grown Gran’s body over her shoulder like it’s nothing. Sadly, it doesn’t seem to give Quinlan pause; he just smirks, yellow eyes alight as he watches the group leave.

“He was stealing from you,” he says conversationally, as the door slides closed again. “And planning to sell you out to the Mining Guild.”

“I'm aware,” Xanatos says coolly, and after a half-second’s deliberation, he steps over the spot where Teekon’s body was and heads for the pitcher of caf left on the side table. “But his security was lax, and his plotting was useful. I'm afraid you’ve robbed me of my best way to predict the Guild’s movements.”

It’s a lie, of course. Quinlan knows that just as well as Xanatos does, but he doesn’t point it out, just shrugs.

“Might be better for my Master if you're less powerful,” he says blandly.

Xanatos snorts, swirling sweetener into his cup. “If Dooku wants my power, he can come and take it,” he says. “How is my Grandmaster these days? Still obsessed with Obi-Wan?”

Quinlan laughs, tipping his chair back a little more and recrossing his boots on the table. “It’s getting kind of creepy,” he agrees. “Was he like this with you?”

Xanatos rolls his eyes, but takes the seat across from Quinlan. “I don’t believe Qui-Gon even told Dooku that I existed,” he says blandly. “The old bastard never had much to do with him after his Knighting.”

“Makes Dooku's obsession even more pathetic,” Quinlan observes, and then looks at Xanatos, head cocked. “You’ve got clones in your house.”

“Someone thought to frame me for slave trading,” Xanatos lies, cool, and raises a brow at Quinlan like an accusation. “How fortunate for me that they serve equally well as prisoners.”

“Not me,” Quinlan says easily, raising his hands. “If you want to blame someone, look elsewhere. Dooku's usually more overt.”

Xanatos makes a noncommittal noise, taking a sip of his caf. “I assume you're here for a reason, Vos,” he says. “And one that’s not murdering my overseers.”

Quinlan’s smile would probably be charming if not for the glow of yellow eyes. “Master Dooku wants to be sure his shipments get off the ground on time,” he says. “There have been a lot of delays recently. He just wants me to stick around, smooth out the kinks in the system. The Separatist armies need your ore, du Crion.”

No one calls him that. Not on Telos. Not anyone who wants to survive the encounter, at least, and Xanatos lets Quinlan see the barb hit, his knuckles going white around the handle of his cup. He closes his eyes for a long moment, then says, “Very well. I assume you can find your own lodging—”

“I like that Blue Room you put me in last time,” Quinlan says, dashing Xanatos’s fledgling hopes completely. “Master Dooku wants to know how your experiments are going. He’s been patiently waiting for you to provide results, but it seems like you're lagging, Xanatos.”

Well. Apparently Xanatos is going to have to figure out a handful of non-lethal experiments that will work on the clones. There are some he’s prepared that will be definite failures, thankfully, and he can use them to buy time, but—eventually he’s going to have to give Dooku something that _does_ work. He keeps his expression bland, disinterested, and says, “I'm in the final stages for several of them. What did you think the clones were for?”

Quinlan smirks, lazy, and it’s all sharp edges. “Going to send one of Anakin's clones back to him all twisted up by Sith magic?” he asks, amused. “Obi-Wan’s going to love that.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Xanatos drains his cup, then sets it down on the table, handle at a precise right angle to the edge. “There are to be no other agents under Dooku's direction on Telos IV,” he warns, soft. “I remember the agreement, even if Dooku seems to be overlooking key parts of it.”

Quinlan cocks his head, long locs falling over his shoulder. It’s an oddly predatory motion for a Kiffar, but Xanatos supposes that too much time spent around a Sith can do that to one. “I'm not here as a spy,” he says, like Xanatos is going to believe a single word that comes out of his mouth. “Just as a manager. Those shipments go out on time, I leave you alone. Not everything is about you, Xanatos.”

“All _entertaining_ things are about me,” Xanatos counters, and rises to his feet. He’ll have to see to it that the next few loads of ore reach Dooku without the delays he’s been manufacturing so carefully the last few months. “Make sure you bathe. Everyone Dooku sends me seems to have fleas.”

Quinlan’s smirk deepens. “Yeah?” he asks lazily. “How’s Asajj, by the way?”

“Jealousy?” Xanatos retorts. “One would think you’d exhausted that dealing with Dooku's fixation on Obi-Wan.”

Quinlan just shrugs. “Competition’s bad for me,” he says. “Dooku's got a pretty high turnover rate already.” He pauses, humor sliding out of his expression, and then says, “Something you might want to keep in mind, Xanatos.”

Xanatos rolls his eyes, unimpressed by the intimidation. “Dooku has nothing I could want,” he says dismissively, “and there's nothing he could offer that would make me willing to join him as an _apprentice_. I'm no Jedi, Vos, and I'm even less likely to be a Sith. Good day.”

Turning on his heel, he sweeps out of the room, able to feel the itch of Quinlan’s eyes on his back. Quinlan doesn’t try to stop him, though, doesn’t move from his spot at the table, and Xanatos doesn’t pause, stalking down the long hallway towards his study with anger bubbling in his chest.

There's a familiar figure waiting at the intersection of halls, sitting on a ledge of stone. He glances up as Xanatos approaches, expression lightening as he tugs his hood back. Xanatos looks at him and feels something in his chest turn over. The last thing he wants is Quinlan in the same area, but—

“Father,” Granta says, sliding to the ground. “I was looking for you.”

The oddness of feeling nothing from the Force where his son is standing will never fade, but Xanatos is at least slightly more used to it now than he was when Granta was first born, and he reaches out, hooks an arm around his son’s shoulders, and pulls him into a hug. “Granta,” he says into his hair. “I thought you were with your mother this month.”

Granta shakes his head, hands clutching at the back of Xanatos’s shirt. “She’s busy,” he says. “The station’s seeing heavy traffic through the Colonies, so I said I would come back early.”

It’s never a good time, these days, but Xanatos can still be glad to see Granta, regardless of his fears. “Be careful,” he murmurs, quiet. “Vos is here, and Dooku is having him stay to watch us, at least for a time.”

“I will,” Granta promises, just as quiet, and then pulls back, offering him a crooked smile. “Was that Teekon that Bel was carrying out?”

Xanatos grimaces, draping an arm over Granta's shoulders. “We’ll have to find another Mining Guild informant to spy on,” he says.

“Not one with passwords that are that easy to guess,” Granta laments, and Xanatos snorts, pulling him down the corridor.

“We’ll make do,” he promises. “Have you eaten? When did you arrive?”

“About ten minutes ago.” Granta casts a look back over his shoulder, then says, “I’d swear I was seeing triple on my way in. Why do you have _clones_ here?”

“Skragg,” Xanatos says derisively, and Granta snickers, leaning into Xanatos’s side as they make their way towards the study.


	3. Chapter 3

Kix slipping out early in the morning isn't exactly making Jesse and Tup _less_ safe. None of them are safe right now, and Kix being close by and awake and restless isn't exactly going to stop anyone who wants to hurt them.

It might make them more safe, even, if Kix can get somewhere with tools and maybe see about getting the bracelets off.

For now, though, this is just scouting. Kix saw these halls yesterday, made a careful mental map of them as Sugi led him through, and he needs to expand that. They picked a room, holed up there, but—Kix doesn’t like how vulnerable it feels, not knowing what’s around them. They already don’t have their armor, don’t have anything but each other, and they're right in the middle of Separatist space, prisoners of a man who’s probably the next best thing to the Mining Guild. Just sitting around waiting for something to happen is enough to make Kix ready to vibrate out of his skin.

He pauses at the edge of the fountain-filled hall, trying to decide if he wants to make his way back towards medical, and after a long moment decides to turn down a hallway full of locked doors instead. None of them open when he tests them, even when he holds the bracelet up to pad, so Kix reluctantly leaves them be, turning left at the end of the hall. There's a balcony that leads to a flight of stairs, oddly grand and ornate for being tucked away in a back corridor somewhere, and Kix hesitates at the landing of them, glancing up, then in the other direction. The other hall ends at a lift, though, and Kix doesn’t feel quite _that_ confident. If he ends up somewhere that he can't get back from—

Kix takes the stairs, fighting down the thread of unease at the idea of being trapped somewhere like the pirates’ hold again so soon.

The staircase, at least, doesn’t feel claustrophobic. It’s _strange_ , but not menacing, and Kix glances up at the twisting spiral above his head, a dizzying array of floors, and then down the steps where they curl past the floor he was on. Not a _perfect_ spiral, though—there's a sharp edge like a teardrop to each level, and when Kix leans over the edge it continues down, the blue steps seemingly endless, the deep copper of the railing outlining them as they disappear into distance.

Well, Kix thinks, taking a breath. He’s definitely not going down. That’s a karking lot of stairs.

Going up seems like the better bet, if only because Kix thinks he can see the top of the stairs. The undersides are all painted, deep blue scattered with gold, and the effect is dizzying, but not nearly as much so as looking down. Kix thinks he can hear water, too, and he frowns, making his way up. There doesn’t seem to be any other landing leading off, at least not above him, and that’s even weirder, but—promising, maybe. A staircase that can only be accessed from one floor probably has important things at the top of it, assuming there’s any logic to this place.

Kix just—needs to find them a way out. Something. _Anything_ that can get them back to the 501st. Rex probably thinks they're dead already, lost when the side of the mountain collapsed, but that doesn’t mean Kix is going to stop _trying_. Torrent needs them.

The sound of water is getting clearer, and Kix can see sunlight, rather than artificial light as he mounts the last turn of the spiral. It’s cool, but not cold, and open to the air, which makes Kix frown a little. That seems…inconvenient, though he can't remember much of anything about Telos IV’s weather. He squints up against a shaft of sunlight, raising a hand to shade his eyes as he climbs the last few stairs—

Feels empty air beneath his foot just in time to save himself from going spilling headlong into a wide stone pool.

It takes some ungraceful sidestepping and windmilling, but after a long, teetering second Kix manages to grab onto a stone column, shove himself onto more solid ground, and turn. The pool looks deep, and it opens up right at the base of the stairs in a way that’s _definitely_ a safety hazard, but there's a narrow path of stepping-stones running through it that are probably meant as a method of crossing. A little disbelieving, Kix eyes them, then sweeps a look around the—the gardens, apparently. It’s a wide, open space of stone and sunlight, with columns and arches and everything absolutely covered in greenery that trails down from above, or grows up from neat beds.

It’s….interesting, Kix thinks, taking a few careful steps deeper into the growth. There's a balcony overlooking the rest of the property, down to a tall wall in the distance, and a line of fruit trees like a barricade. He hesitates, but—that’s a good vantage point to see any breaks in the wall, any potential weak points they could get through, and he makes for the edge—

“—terms of our deal was for a set amount each month, Vos, and you are _not_ swindling me out of more just because Dooku is getting _impatient_ —”

“Cool your jets, du Crion,” a voice interrupts, and Kix can hardly _breathe_. Suddenly far too aware of every little noise, he glances around, spots a waterfall of flowering vines covering an archway, and dodges the edge of the pool to duck behind it, tucking himself back into an alcove with several blooming bushes. There's a cushioned chair between them, and Kix sinks down on it, trying to get as low as possible as footsteps sound.

“Using that name,” Xanatos says silkily, “is not likely to win you favors from me, Vos.”

There's a chuckle, low, almost menacing, and the steps stop just out of sight. “Dooku just wants a little extra of the ore you promised, to make up for the delays,” Vos says, and Kix _knows_ that voice. Quinlan Vos served with the 501st a few times, towards the beginning of the war. Kix was even part of an extraction team that got him out of a bad situation, once. But…before he turned to the Dark Side. Before he _betrayed_ the Jedi. It makes a thread of anger curl through Kix's chest, but he holds himself perfectly still, tensed to move, still watching.

“Delays are a natural part of business,” Xanatos says flatly, and there's none of the flippancy that was in his voice when he was talking to Kix. “If you want me to be able to fill the monthly quotas, there will be no extra shipments. Telos only has so many mines, and Dooku's demands have already pushed us as far as we can go.”

“Yeah, but there are plenty of untapped veins of ore,” Quinlan says, lazy. “Plenty more old mines, too. You just need to think outside the box, du Crion. Your father already slated those sites for mining, right? What’s the harm in following through?”

“The harm,” Xanatos repeats, cold. “The _harm_ would be to Telos’s sacred sites, as you're well aware. My father was an unscrupulous, manipulative _bastard_ , and any of his plans that remained were scrapped long ago.”

“It’s a shame,” Quinlan says lightly. “Dooku talks a lot about how promising you were, before your son was born.”

The arctic edge in Xanatos’s voice _burns_ when he says, “Granta has nothing to do with this, Vos, and you will refrain from mentioning him, or I kill you where you stand and deal with the consequences later.”

Quinlan just laughs. “Force, you're touchy,” he says, amused. “Figure it out, Xanatos. Dooku wants an extra shipment, to make up for all the strain you’ve put on him. I don’t care how you get it, or what rules you have to break. Telos is still standing because you were willing to bend. Be a shame to ruin that now.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer; heavy boots retreat, cat-quiet, and water splashes lightly before silence falls again. Xanatos is perfectly still, unmoving, and Kix can't help but hold his breath, listening, waiting—

A ragged breath, a curse. Xanatos turns on his heel, stalking a few steps, and there's a loud thud, the impact of flesh on stone, then another, and a louder curse. Kix is on his feet before he can even consider the pitfalls, instinct moving him when fear would make him stop in any other circumstances. He pushes through the trailing vines, and—it’s not a surprise to see Xanatos with a bleeding hand, or the bloody imprint of knuckles on the stone column beside him. He’s just pulling back like he’s going to hit it again, but Kix crosses the distance between them in three long steps and grabs his wrist.

“ _Stop_ ,” he says firmly, and Xanatos goes still. That same snake-stillness from before, ready to turn and strike, and it’s _dangerous_. Kix can feel that much, and awareness of the threat prickles across the back of his neck, but he still doesn’t let go.

“Punching things isn't going to help,” he says, more quietly. “You're just going to get blood on everything.”

“I assure you, I pay my cleaning staff more than well enough for them to deal with a little blood now and then,” Xanatos says dismissively, but he isn't looking at Kix. “Well? Did you learn anything interesting in the course of your skulking in shadows?”

“That you're bad at throwing a punch,” Kix says, unimpressed, and pulls Xanatos’s hand towards him, inspecting the torn skin. It’s not bad; nothing looks broken, and some bacta will fix the cuts in a few minutes. But—Kix wouldn’t have pegged Xanatos as someone liable to lose control like that. It’s a little unsettling.

Xanatos snorts, though he isn't pulling away from Kix. He has his head turned, and all Kix can see of his face is his fall of dark hair, the curve of a cheek. “Only when what I'm punching isn't liable to punch back,” he says coolly, and Kix swallows, thinking of how quickly Xanatos managed to get Jesse pinned with a knife at his throat yesterday. He’s definitely dangerous.

“I think the stone did more damage than a normal punch would have,” Kix points out. “You should go to medical.”

Xanatos sighs, but digs in his pockets with his good hand for a moment, coming up with a length of cloth after a moment. He wraps it around his bleeding knuckles, then says, “I suppose D3 needs to get in her weekly burst of yelling at me. How unfortunate.”

“If you don’t like it, then stop hitting things when you're angry,” Kix tells him, automatic, and freezes. He’s said the same thing to shinies so many times that it’s just rote by now, but he didn’t mean to—

Xanatos snorts, turning to meet Kix's eyes, and his own are sharp, narrowed, but amused. “Not the worst advice I've been given in my life,” he allows. “Though that bar is so low I might consider it a tripping hazard.”

“You're dealing with Sith,” Kix says, as evenly as he can manage. “I'm not surprised you took a few wrong turns somewhere.”

The look Xanatos shoots him is veiled, unreadable. “Yes, sacred pools forefend, I'm dealing with the current government of my sector,” he says, just a trace of acid in the words. “How could I? I must be a monster.”

Kix doesn’t bristle, but—if he had an ounce more of a temper, the column wouldn’t be the only punched thing right now. “You're making _deals_ with people who have tried to wipe out whole _worlds_ ,” he says sharply.

Xanatos laughs, though there's nothing of humor in it. “Yes, and because I have, Telos isn't one of the worlds suffering,” he says. “That is sufficient, I've found, to let me sleep very well at night.”

“While other people _die_ ,” Kix counters.

Xanatos shakes his head, brushing that off like it’s a stray cobweb on his nice robes. “I can do nothing for them,” he says. “And I don’t care. Telos is _mine_ , and I will keep it in one piece for that reason.”

For a moment Kix can't figure out what to say, entirely lost for words as anger flares, rises. He’s _not_ an angry person, loses his temper, but—not easily. That, though. That’s—

“That’s so _selfish_ ,” he says, and it knots in his throat, makes it hard to get out. His hands curl, and he wants to swing. Thinks, in that one instant, that he could get Xanatos down, could get a hand around his throat, and even if it meant he got hunted down and killed right after, at least an important Sep would be dead and Dooku would have a problem.

Xanatos is watching him, though, and there's a light in dark blue eyes. Something halfway to a dare, except harsher, more deadly. He looks at Kix like he knows every half-formed plan going through his head, every move he’s about to make, and he’s thought of ways to make Kix regret all of them.

“I'm a very selfish man, Kix,” he says, soft. “If you think otherwise, you haven’t been paying attention. All I care about is Telos. All I _want_ is power.”

“But not enough to do anything Dooku wants?” Kix asks, and that’s the test. That’s the pitfall. Xanatos was _refusing_ to give Dooku what he wanted, and probably hurting the Separatist cause at the same time. Kix is stuck on that part, because he _believes_ Xanatos, hasn’t been given any reason not to, but—

Telos’s sacred sites are apparently one bridge too far, no matter what he’s given Dooku. It’s _weird_.

Xanatos snorts, turning away, and Kix only hesitates a moment before he follows him down a long row of columns. There's no ceiling here, only plants, and the sunlight comes through clearly, bright on the wide marble steps that Xanatos stalks down. He avoids a small, round pool of perfectly glass-clear water, heading right for the edge of the building, and stops there, and Kix casts him a wary look but steps up beside him. This must be the rear of the building; Kix can't see any sign of the perimeter wall, but there's a forest looming dark and twisted a few hundred meters from the edge of the drive, the shadows under it black even in the morning light. That’s where Xanatos’s eyes are fixed.

“I would advise you avoid Vos,” he says, cool. “He already murdered one of my managers this morning, and I'm sure more will follow.”

Kix swallows. There's no part of him that wants anything to do with a Sith, especially a fallen Jedi serving Dooku, but— “Give us weapons and we might be able to fix your problem,” he says steadily, even though it’s probably a lie. Vos was a Master, and Kix is a medic first and foremost. Jesse’s been thinking about enrolling in ARC training, but for now he’s just a trooper, and Tup is a _shiny_ , was just planning his first paint before they got snatched. But—it’s something like a plan. Take out a Sith, free Xanatos from his obligations, use that to bargain for their release.

But Xanatos _laughs_ , harsh, without any humor in the sound. “Dooku's apprentice, killed on my planet?” he asks, mocking. “Telos would be conquered in a _week_. If I wanted Vos dead, he would be, but the fallout is something that not even I can control.”

That’s a lot of confidence for someone with a Sith living in their house. Kix has seen Ventress move, seen Dooku fight, and they're a level beyond even most Jedi. A normal Human wouldn’t stand a chance.

“But you hate him,” Kix says carefully, because he knows what he heard.

Xanatos smiles, thin and humorless. “Oh, _passionately_. But I understand the rules of this game. Vos is untouchable as long as Dooku holds power, and we are in the center of CIS space. Dooku will always hold power here.”

Kix knows from bloody, devastating experience just what happens to systems or worlds that try to declare themselves still part of the Republic while surrounded on all sides by Separatists. A lot of the very worst campaigns have been worlds like that. Or worse, the 501st has had mop-up duty in the aftermath, once those worlds have been enslaved or massacred, all the resources have been strip-mined, and the Separatists have moved on. It’s not that he doesn’t have sympathy, but—

“Would you be a loyal member of the Confederacy if Telos wasn’t being held hostage?” he asks quietly.

Xanatos’s mouth curls, but it’s not a smile this time, humorless or otherwise. “I never dwell on the hypothetical,” he says disdainfully. “The realm of the imagination is for fantasizing about the gruesome deaths of those who have wronged you, not playing out the unreachable might have beens of an alternate universe’s progression.”

Not any kind of answer, but—Kix knows what he _wants_ to believe. Knows just as clearly that it might not be the truth, too. He can't see into Xanatos’s head.

“And what exactly do you want from us?” he asks levelly, watching Xanatos’s unwavering stare at the forest. He wants to reach out, grab Xanatos and make him face Kix, but that seems like a bad way to keep their conversation going. “We’re never going to join you.”

There's a long moment of silence. Xanatos’s eyes slide shut, and he tips his head up towards the sun for an instant, then turns in a whirl of dark cloth and black hair and that danger-bright dare back in his eyes. “Right now? A volunteer. One of your little squadron who would like to assist me with matters of _utmost_ urgency, regardless of…passing risk to life and limb.”

Kix almost twitches back a step, startled by the sudden shift, knocked off balance by the demand. “A volunteer?” he repeats. “For _experiments_?”

“Telos IV was once part of Darth Revan’s Sith Empire,” Xanatos says, and takes a step forward. He’s not tall, but the motion is meant to intimidate, meant to push Kix back. Kix is still a soldier, though, and he’s faced far scarier things than one lean nobleman who isn't even armed. He holds his ground, gaze locked with Xanatos’s, and—

Xanatos is the one who stops. He doesn’t come any closer, just stares at Kix like _he’s_ the danger, like he’s done something Xanatos didn’t expect. There's a long tense moment of silence, and then Xanatos makes a dismissive sound and turns away.

“For experiments, yes,” he says, offhand, like it doesn’t matter. “If there’s no volunteer, I’ll simply pick whoever looks…sturdiest.”

Jesse, probably. Kix's hands curl into fists, and it takes effort to swallow. Jesse does more strength training, and he and Hardcase are usually the ones hauling around the heaviest equipment. They're all strong, but—Jesse is the one where it’s most visible. Xanatos will likely pick him, and he already spent the whole trip here taking the brunt of the pirates’ abuse, drawing their attention, making sure that Kix and Tup weren’t hurt. Kix _can't_ let that happen again. And if he doesn’t do something, Jesse _will_ volunteer, and probably pull rank about it, and Kix and Tup are both just privates—

“I’ll do it,” he says, and meets Xanatos’s eyes squarely. “I volunteer. Take me.”

Another flicker of surprise, another reaction that’s a half-second slower than Kix would have expected. Xanatos regards him for a long moment, then says coolly, “Very well. We leave after dinner, then. Prepare yourself.” He sweeps past Kix without looking back, long strides strangely quiet on the stone, and disappears into the greenery before Kix can even call out to him.

Off balance, Kix stares after him, then slowly, carefully takes a step back and sinks down on the wall. He tangles his fingers together, gripping tightly, and—they're not going to shake. They don’t. But—

He’d thought he was getting a read on Xanatos. There had been a moment when he was _sure_ of it, sure that he was seeing something, that maybe all the pieces of Xanatos he was seeing added up to something less terrible than he’d thought last night. After all, cornered by circumstances didn’t have to mean _evil_. Planets like Ryloth that used to be under Separatist control are wholly allies now that they’ve been liberated. He’d just _thought_ —

“Careful there,” a light voice says, and Kix freezes, hardly daring to breathe as a shadow falls over him. Dread crawls down his spine, and it takes an impossible amount of effort to raise his head, to look up into the yellow eyes of someone who used to be General Kenobi’s best friend.

Quinlan smiles at him, but it’s a dark thing, full of edges. “Keep your eyes on Xanatos,” he says. “He’s a snake. If you and your men want to get out of here in one piece, and not twisted up in Sith magic and sent back like a time bomb, you’ll have to do it fast.”

The words are mocking, but Kix can't tell if they're a lie. He pushes up to his feet again, careful, far too aware of the edge of the roof behind him, and says, “General Vos, sir.”

It’s a bad idea to taunt a Sith. It’s a _really_ bad idea to taunt a Sith. But—he’s a traitor. He _betrayed the Jedi_ , just like Dooku did. Kix can't trust _anything_ he says.

There's a pause, then a snort. “Not a lie,” Quinlan says flippantly. “You got me out of a jam once, and I can respect that. If you ever decide you don’t want to end up as a science experiment, come find me.” That smirk is all a dare, but this one is different than Xanatos’s. Not as desperate, maybe, Kix thinks, and swallows. It has a predatory edge, too, something teasing that makes him tense, like a mouse in front of a tooka.

“I think we’ll manage, General,” Kix says, and only just manages not to put too much emphasis on the title. Not smart, but—all he can think of is Ventress, and the dead she left behind her, and how Quinlan is in the same place now, serving the same man who ordered all of those kills.

Kix can forgive a lot. Getting clones killed isn't one of those things.

Quinlan’s face darkens for a moment, and he steps forward. Unlike Xanatos, he _is_ a big man, broad and obviously muscular, and Kix has to tip his head up to meet his eyes. But he does, even though his heart is in his throat, even though those eyes are _yellow_ instead of the brown he remembers. He doesn’t waver, because Quinlan is a _traitor_ , and if Kix were an ounce braver he would try to live up to Jango's reputation right now and go for Quinlan’s throat.

“Careful.” Quinlan smiles, but it’s a threat in the most obvious way possible. “If you're not smart, you're not going to make it out of here alive. Maybe a Sith owing you something isn't the end of the world, right?”

“I'm not going to betray the Republic by working with a _traitor_ ,” Kix says plainly.

Quinlan snorts. “But you’ll cozy up to Xanatos?” he asks, and steps sideways, circling Kix with slow, deliberate steps. “His family almost started a civil war on Telos a few years back. Xanatos included. The father—he was a _real_ piece of work. Tried to take over the whole system. The Jedi only just managed to fix things in time.”

Kix's stomach turns, but he doesn’t let himself react. “We’re his prisoners,” he says. “You're talking like we’re his guests.”

Quinlan huffs, coming to a stop right behind Kix. “Yeah, well, if you're choosing to stick around, that’s the logical conclusion, right? I offered you a way out, but you didn’t take it.”

“It’s not a way out if it’s from a _Sith_ ,” Kix says fiercely, and turns—

There's only empty space behind him. Quinlan is gone.


End file.
